


Fallen Quite Hard Over You

by lecrivaineanonyme



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 17:31:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2630273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecrivaineanonyme/pseuds/lecrivaineanonyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I cannot believe you tricked me into going to the student health center," Grantaire groaned as he hobbled up the stairs to his apartment. "You Judas! Although in this case, the master has betrayed the disciple. Did you sell me out for thirty pieces of silver?”</p><p>"Don't fall all over yourself thanking me," Enjolras retorted. "No, seriously don't fall," he added hurriedly, steadying Grantaire. "A bloody nose is the last thing you need."</p><p>"Hey, if I break my nose again, maybe the shape will come out better this time," Grantaire muttered.</p><p>“It’s amazing how having a high fever and pneumonia has absolutely no effect on your ability to talk,” Enjolras grumbled.</p><p>Also known as the one in which Grantaire faints from dehydration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen Quite Hard Over You

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to write typogRaphy and I came up with this self-indulgent, tooth-rotting fluff instead. Whoops.
> 
> Title is from Landon Pigg's extremely cheesy/really adorable "Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop."
> 
> I do not own any of these characters. All mistakes are entirely my own. 
> 
> Thanks, chocolate, and wine to the incredibly wonderful Lynchy8 for beta-ing this fic. Their commentary, suggestions, good humor, and ability to put up with my adherence to the Oxford comma have been invaluable.

Joly was right; Grantaire should have worn a coat. If he had worn his coat, his head wouldn’t feel like it weighed an extra five pounds, he wouldn’t be stuck to his sweat-soaked sheets, and his body wouldn’t be attempting to expel his lungs.

Wrapping himself in his flannel bathrobe, Grantaire shakily got out of bed and hobbled towards the bathroom. The hot water of the shower soothed his aching muscles, but his head was still spinning. A violent cough racked his chest suddenly, and he braced himself against the shower wall.

Resting his forehead against the cool tiles, he debated skipping studio and crawling back into bed. But he had portfolio pieces due in a week and it was only a little cold, right?

He stepped out of the shower, shivering violently. He quickly pulled on his softest sweatshirt and his most worn pair of jeans, swallowed some ibuprofen, and grabbed his coffee thermos. He was going to power through the day, stop at Café Musain for some soup and pick up some whiskey at the liquor store before curling up on his sofa to wallow in his misery for the entire weekend. _Yes_ , Grantaire thought to himself as he got into his car, _this is a solid plan_.

* * *

 

Three hours later, Grantaire had heavily revised his earlier opinion. This had been a shitty plan. The shittiest of shitty plans. He hadn’t made such a shitty plan since he’d forgone sleep for a week straight during finals last year. The medication had temporarily eased his muscle aches, but his hands were so jittery, he could barely hold the paintbrush. The fumes weren’t helping his burgeoning headache, either.

The third time he knocked over his paint water, he decided enough was enough. He mopped up the mess, put his supplies away, and headed for Café Musain.

Café Musain was one of those comfortable cafés that looked like somebody’s living room, filled with squashy armchairs and cozy nooks. Grantaire attempted to breathe deeply, vaguely aware of the scent of coffee and warm bread. The red-headed barista behind the counter gave him a sympathetic smile as she handed over his to-go bag of soup and dinner roll.

“Go home and go right to bed, you hear?” she said, tucking some extra crackers into the bag. “You look like death.”

“You’re such a flatterer, Louison,” Grantaire replied, placing a few dollars in the tip jar. “I’ll go home and go to bed, I promise!” he added hurriedly as Louison raised her eyebrow.

“You’d better,” she said sternly. “And if Bossuet comes in here telling me you’re doing whiskey shots to cure your cold again, I’m going to come after you.”

“But it works…and Joly was supervising!” Grantaire whined.

“False. It dulls pain, but is dehydrating. You can have whiskey when you’re better. Now go,” Lousion said, shooing him towards the door. “TO BED WITH YOU.”

“Grantaire!”

Grantaire turned around, soup in hand, to see Enjolras coming down the stairs, zipping up his red hoodie and slinging his book bag over his shoulder. His curls were a tied up in a haphazard ponytail with a scrunchie Grantaire recognized as Cosette’s, and his reading glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose.

Damn, if he wasn’t the most adorable thing Grantaire had seen that day.

“Hey, Enjolras,” he said weakly. “I thought you had class on Fridays?”

“Canceled,” Enjolras replied, readjusting his frames. “Just as well, saves me from sitting through another hopelessly Euro-centric political theory class. I actually had a chance to finish that report for Professor Lamarque.”

“You mean the one you’ve been agonizing over for the past month? Congratulations, you deserve a drink. I’d buy you one myself, but I think Louison would kill me if I bought alcohol right now. She’s trying to mother me again.” 

“Well, she wouldn’t have to if you took better care of yourself,” Enjolras retorted, looking Grantaire up and down.

“Says you,” Grantaire shot back at him. “You wouldn’t be alive if Combeferre and Courfeyrac didn’t keep tabs on you.”

Enjolras grinned before clearing his throat. “Actually Grantaire, do you, um, have a minute? To talk?” he asked, fiddling with his zipper. Grantaire could’ve sworn he saw a hint of blush on the blond’s cheeks. He couldn’t be sure of anything, the way his head was throbbing. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could stay upright for more than ten minutes; he really just wanted to go home and sleep. The problem was that Grantaire rarely was able to bring himself to say no to Enjolras, so he smiled and nodded.

“Great.” Enjolras took a deep breath. “Listen, Grantaire, I uh… I know we don’t always agree on things, and I know that sometimes I snap at you when I don’t mean to, and I know you think I’m kind of naïve, but you’re really a really good and supportive friend…”

Grantaire reached out subtly to grasp the nearest chair for support as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He didn’t know why Enjolras was on the self-esteem parade today, but if he kept going much longer, Grantaire was going to need to sit down.

“…and you’re funny, and generous, and well-read, and you have a really nice voice, and you have really nice eyes. Not that your eyes have anything to do with your worth as a person, of course. But there’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Enjolras finally paused for a breath, running his hand through his curls again. Grantaire tried to focus on that, blinking once or twice to clear his vision as Enjolras continued. “I uh…lately I have been experiencing some, uh, feelings, that I’m not quite sure what to do with.”

"You always have a lot of feelings," Grantaire replied. "A lot of feelings about a lot of things. That's just...you. You would be a horrible Stoic, you realize. They believed that impassioned attachment to anything was a sign of false judgment. Well, that's actually a simplification. I'd give you the whole spiel but I left my textbook on Greek philosophy at home. The gist is that feelings need to be well-reasoned and not excessive. But you aren't very good at that. You look like you’re made of marble, but you’re one of the most passionate people in existence. Like, I'm sorry, but your love for Combeferre's banana muffins is irrational. Yes they are delicious and I would never turn one down, but you tackled Courfeyrac for the last one! A desire for food is rational. A desire for a delicious banana muffin is rational. But a desire for a banana muffin that is so strong, you tackle one of your best friends to the ground and give him a bloody nose? That's irrational. You were controlled by the desire for banana muffins, when you should be in control of your emotions. So therein lies the answer to your troubles, my friend. Become a Stoic. Though for my part, I'd be a shitty Stoic, too. I sit in my apartment and drink and cry about my irrational love of surrealism…” Enjolras suddenly cleared his throat.

“Grantaire, I normally value your interruptions, but just this once, can you let me finish?” Enjolras pleaded earnestly. Gripping the chair more firmly, Grantaire nodded, giving Enjolras a weak smile. He could do this, he could make it. He watched dazedly as Enjolras inhaled deeply.

“Grantaireireallylikeyouwillyougoonadatewithme?”

_What. The. Fuck._

Heart pounding, Grantaire opened his mouth to say something when he was hit with another wave of dizziness.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras’s worried face swam in and out of blurriness. “Are you okay? Grantaire…”

Grantaire felt his grip loosen on the chair. He heard Enjolras’ frantic shouting, and the world went black.

* * *

 

The first thing he was really aware of was something bulky under his feet, followed by something cold on his forehead. Cracking open his eyes, he saw Louison hovering over him, looking extremely concerned. Deciding to risk a little more movement, he turned his head to see Enjolras standing a few feet away, talking rapidly into his phone. The sound came rushing back at full volume.

“I broke Grantaire! I asked him on a date and he fainted Joly, I don’t know what to do besides putting my book bag under his feet to encourage blood flow back to his brain. Louison put a cold washcloth on his forehead, she thinks he has a fever and I think she’s right… _JOLY, STOP HI-FIVING BOSSUET AND TELL ME WHAT TO DO DAMNIT, GRANTAIRE IS ON THE FLOOR AT MUSAIN!_ ”

“Did I pass out?” Grantaire asked groggily. Enjolras snapped his head around to look at him, eyes wide as Louison nodded.

“You weren’t out long,” she said, voice soft for which Grantaire was extremely grateful. “Just a few minutes.”

“Ah. Sorry about the mess,” he replied guiltily, spotting another barista mopping up his spilled soup.

“Don’t even worry about it,” she answered gently with a smile. “We’ll fix you up with another bowl.”

Grantaire watched Enjolras finish his hurried discussion with Joly, embarrassment coursing through his veins as he realized what had happened. The man he’d pined over for a year had finally asked him out and Grantaire had fainted, like a heroine out of Victorian novel. He’d swooned for God’s sake. Unless he had hallucinated the entire exchange.

“OH MY GOD JOLY, CAN WE SAVE THE SAFE SEX TALK FOR ANOTHER TIME?”

Damnit. He hadn’t hallucinated. He was never going to live this down. Ever. Enjolras was going to want to forget the whole thing and Grantaire was going to have to move out of town and change his name, because he had fucking swooned when his crush asked him out.

“Grantaire?”

Grantaire blinked. Enjolras’s blue eyes were boring into his own.

“Hey, chief,” he croaked, desperately wishing for a rock to crawl under. “Sorry about the short-circuiting.”

“You look terrible.” Enjolras’s forehead was crinkled with worry and it would be the most adorable thing except for the utterly mortifying circumstances.

“Stop it, Enjolras, you’re going to make me blush,” Grantaire deadpanned, trying to break the tension.

“You should be in bed,” Enjolras persisted, rolling his eyes fondly. “Can you stand?”

“I think so. Might need a little help,” Grantaire responded, sitting up tentatively to see how his inner compass reacted.

Enjolras gripped his upper arm and helped him stand. “I’m taking you home,” he said firmly, holding out his hands. “Keys, please.”

“I can drive,” Grantaire protested half-heartedly, already knowing it was useless.

“Grantaire, you can’t even stand up. Keys. Now.”

Swaying on his feet, Grantaire fished out his keys and handed them over. Anything to be able to curl up in bed.

* * *

 

"I cannot believe you tricked me into going to the student health center," Grantaire groaned as he hobbled up the stairs to his apartment. "You Judas! Although in this case, the master has betrayed the disciple. Did you sell me out for thirty pieces of silver?”

"Don't fall all over yourself thanking me," Enjolras retorted. "No, seriously don't fall," he added hurriedly, steadying Grantaire. "A bloody nose is the last thing you need."

"Hey, if I break my nose again, maybe the shape will come out better this time," Grantaire muttered.

“It’s amazing how having a high fever and pneumonia has absolutely no effect on your ability to talk,” Enjolras grumbled.

They shuffled into the apartment. Enjolras put the bags from Musain and the pharmacy on the kitchen counter. "Pajamas. Bed. Now," he said, pointing towards Grantaire's room. "I'm going to organize your medicine."

"I appreciate the ride home, Enjolras, but you don't have to make a fuss,” Grantaire said. "Really."

"PAJAMAS. BED. NOW."

“But…”

Enjolras glared over the top of his glasses. “You have pneumonia, Grantaire,” he said calmly. “If you don’t put on that ridiculous onesie Courfeyrac gave you last Christmas and get in bed in the next five seconds, I’m calling Joly and telling him just how sick you are.”

Grantaire gaped. “You wouldn’t.”

Enjolras held up his phone. “In a heartbeat.”

Grantaire sprinted.

* * *

 

Grantaire didn’t remember much else from that day. He had vague memories of Enjolras bringing him his medicine and some tea. He thought he heard Enjolras briefly talking on the phone and felt him laying a cool compress on his forehead, but he wasn’t sure.

He found a note the next day, detailing his medicine dosage next to a large box of tea, several cans of soup, and medicine bottles. _Call if you need anything. –E_

Grantaire sighed. He was definitely going to have to move out of town when this was over.

* * *

 

Grantaire was adding satyrs to his woodland scene when he heard a series of knocks at the door. He bit his lip and concentrated on his satyrs, hoping that if he stayed quiet, whoever was outside would just go away.

Unfortunately, the knocks were persistent. After about five minutes, he had had enough.         

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Grantaire grunted, putting his paintbrush down and wiping off his hands. He opened the door and found Bossuet leaning casually against the doorframe.

“The rumors are true!” he exclaimed, looking Grantaire over and breaking into a grin. “You live!”

“You were in doubt, my optimistic friend?” Grantaire asked.

“Well, we have been deprived of your good humor for a week now and limited to single syllable text messages of varying levels of profanity,” Bossuet answered. “Naturally we were concerned.”

“Of course you were,” Grantaire said. “How are you, Bossuet?” 

“Capital, R,” Bossuet replied, grinning wider as Grantaire chuckled. “The more pertinent question is how are you?”

“Busy, but fine,” Grantaire replied casually, waving his friend inside.

“All recovered then?” Bossuet inquired lightly.

“Yep. I took my medicine like I was supposed to. Even went for a follow-up appointment at the doctor.”

Bossuet gave him an appraising look. “Well then, care to explain why you’re avoiding everyone?”

Grantaire raised his eyebrow, attempting to look innocent, or guileless in the very least. “I’m not avoiding you. I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but it’s Wednesday night, Grantaire,” Bossuet fixed him with a particular look. “You know what happens on Wednesdays.”

“Oh, right, the meeting. Well, I’ve got portfolio pieces due soon and I didn’t have anything to contribute, so I thought I’d skip out this week. The better question is, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the meeting?”

“I was,” Bossuet replied, grinning. “I’m the search party, seeing as I have…what did Combeferre say? _An uncanny knowledge of all Grantaire’s hidey holes_. I feel a little cheated to find you here, honestly. I was called upon to use my expertise and you’re just sitting at home. A sitting duck! You know how Combeferre feels about ducks.”

Well that was unexpected. Grantaire paused, looking at Bossuet as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard right.

“They sent out a search party?”

“Yes, haven’t you been listening, Capital R? You didn’t show up and we were worried about you because you’ve been uncharacteristically avoiding people. So here I am.”

“I have not been avoiding people,” Grantaire insisted.

“Oh, really?” Bossuet’s tone was colored with disbelief as he folded his arms. “Well, you see a certain blond is worried he, er _scared you off_.”

Grantaire groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face with sheer embarrassment.

“You mean him asking me out wasn’t a hallucination brought on by delirium?”

“Given that he admitted to Joly he had asked you out on a date when he called after you hit the floor, I’m going to go with that being a Thing That Happened.”

“He’ll never go out with me now,” Grantaire groaned. “I fainted, Bossuet. Fainted. Like some cliché in a too-tight corset. Like Keira Knightley in Pirates of the Caribbean. I SWOONED FOR GOD’S SAKE.”

“So you admit that you were avoiding us!” Bossuet crowed triumphantly, missing the point entirely in Grantaire’s opinion.

“Fine, I was avoiding some of you,” Grantaire grumbled. “Satisfied?”

“Partly. I’m afraid complete satisfaction will be elusive until you return and take your rightful place with Joly and myself at the card table at Musain.” Bossuet narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so worried, R. Enjolras has seen you do all kinds of embarrassing things before he asked you out. Don’t you remember last summer when we were at Jehan’s family house and he let us raid the wine cellar? You ended up singing ‘Roxie’ while posing seductively on the baby grand piano in your boxers.”

Grantaire flushed. He had almost forgotten about that.

“Or what about the time when we were all at Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s apartment for fondue and when adding beer to the cheese, you spilled it on the lit stove and started a small fire?”

“Bossuet…”

“Oh, and let’s not forget the Great Butt Dial of 2013,” Bossuet said thoughtfully, a bright smile spreading across his face. “That was priceless…”

“All right, all right, all right!” Grantaire shouted. “I get the picture. I excel in making an ass out of myself in front of Enjolras.”

Bossuet grinned. “And after all of that, he still asked you out. Your brief acquaintance with the floor of Musain isn’t going to drive him away. Does that make you feel better?”

Grantaire stared at his shoes. “Not really. It just gives him another reason to want to forget he ever asked me out in the first place.”

Bossuet sighed dramatically. “I need reinforcements,” he muttered, pulling out his cell phone and punching a few buttons. “Jolllly? Yes, I’ve found him. Could you swing by the store and pick up a large tub of mac ‘n cheese, some ice cream, and a six pack? Oh, and our copy of Despicable Me. Mr. Grumpy Gills here is sulky and needs placating with food and cheer.”

“I don’t have time for movie night…” Grantaire began, but Bossuet waved at him dismissively.

“Ah, excellent. We’ll see you soon.” He hung up and turned to face Grantaire. “He’ll be here in a half an hour. I suggest you put a smile on your face or Joly will start telling bad jokes on purpose.”

Grantaire hesitated. “I suppose I could use a break from work…”

Bossuet nodded approvingly. “A wise decision. Now, let’s make a blanket nest before Jolllly gets here.”

* * *

 

“Look who has rejoined us in the land of the living!” Louison grinned as she handed over Grantaire’s croissant. “Glad to see you’re up and about.” She studied his face intently. “You don’t look like you got much sleep, though.”

“I had to finish my portfolio pieces,” Grantaire explained, taking the proffered bag. “But they’re done now.”

“Well, go home and get some sleep,” she instructed. “Or else you might just drop from exhaustion. We can’t have you fainting again, you know.”

He opened his mouth to retort when a familiar voice rang out.

“Grantaire!”

 _Shit._ Grantaire had the eeriest feeling of déjà vu as he turned around to see Enjolras coming down the stairs.

“We missed you at the meeting on Wednesday,” Enjolras said, adjusting his book bag. “Are you feeling better then?”

Grantaire nodded. “Thanks for looking after me,” he mumbled, not quite able to meet Enjolras’s eyes.

“Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to check back up on you after I left.” Enjolras fidgeted with his sweater sleeve. “Listen Grantaire,” he said slowly. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by asking you out.”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire began, but the blond continued in a rush.

“Courfeyrac told me to go for it and ask, but I was afraid it would make you feel really uncomfortable and clearly it did because you’ve kind of been in hiding ever since. I’m really, really sorry that I did that and if it makes you feel better, we can just forget I ever asked and go back to being friends.”

Grantaire stared at him, letting the unwelcome sensation of having been punched shudder through him. “You…you want to forget it happened?” he asked hollowly, his heart slowly sinking.

“Well no,” Enjolras admitted. “I’d really like to ask you out properly, instead of having you faint from dehydration, but I’d rather not make the situation worse.”

_Oh._

Grantaire stepped closer to Enjolras, the punched-gut feeling evaporating, a warm feeling of hope blossoming in its place. “Well, I’d really like to accept your invitation properly, but I can’t do that until you ask. Inviting yourself is really rude, I’m told.”

Enjolras looked up, eyes suddenly alight. “You…you want to go out with me?” he asked breathlessly.

Grantaire laughed. “Yes, I do. I really do.”

Enjolras’s face broke out into a dazzling smile. “Well, I’m free right now if you wanted to maybe go for coffee?” he said shyly, reaching out to link his fingers with Grantaire’s.

Grantaire grinned back, tightening his grip. “I’d like that,” he answered.

* * *

 

“So that is how the United States ended up with a feral camel population in Arizona,” Grantaire said as they walked to Enjolras’s apartment. “There hasn’t been a sighting since the 1940s, though, so they’ve probably died out by now.”

Enjolras threw his head back and laughed. “You know the most random things.”

Grantaire grinned. “You learn a lot of strange shit when you get caught up in the Wikipedia wormhole,” he replied.

They walked in companionable silence until they reached the building. Enjolras turned to face Grantaire. “I had a really nice time tonight,” he said softly, his cheeks tinging pink.

Grantaire took Enjolras’s hands in his, pulling him closer. “Me too,” he answered, gently brushing his nose against Enjolras’s and resting their foreheads together.

He doesn’t faint when Enjolras leans forward and kisses him, but his knees do buckle. Just a little bit.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! My fiction-writing skills are still rusty, so feedback is always welcome. 
> 
> I have a writing Tumblr if you want to say hi! http://lecrivaineanonyme.tumblr.com/


End file.
